#donT come for me iM tired
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he thought silent hill was for one day only !! he mad!!
#my art#fanart#digital art#sketch#silent hill 2 remake#silent hill fanart#james sunderland#pyramid head#a particle brush hates to see me coming#dont look 2 closely at the perspective i am very tired#pyramid boy is oversaturated in fanart but hes very fun to draw... frogive me....#im going to sleep. goodnight
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fool's gold (pyrite)
Got inspired by gougie's executioner asks and cloth's egging hehe 💖 have some pirate au simon breeding kink~
Content: 18+; breeding kink; dubious consent*; mean Simon; pirates; captured-by-the-crown reader; barest implication of potential soap/reader and future ghoap/reader; POV shift
*in a 'get out of jail' way, so take that how you will.
---------------------------------
It fluttered in your stomach. A nebulous, squirming little thing.
Not the baby, no. The lie.
You felt it, restless and hot. Kicking your ribs from the inside. It made you flushed, it made you sick-
It bought you at least another few weeks to slip the noose, to slide away in borrowed shoes meant to dance a gallows' jig. Maybe it would buy you more, if the stress held back your monthly the way it often did on the ship. Great, long stretches of time with too much work and not enough food.
You wore the lie like you wore your borrowed clothes, a too-tight bodice and heavy skirts. Impractical, sweet. Modest. A poor little dear caught up and brought low. Fallen woman, sunken to the depths before the law fished her out.
Your thighs stuck together, warm and bare under the skirts. It was sweltering, damp. Clammy in the cell with its stagnant air and earthy, unfinished floors. The wood of your bench –and bedcot–was warped with age, woodlouse burrowed deep into the pulpy grooves. It was enough to make you shudder, sweat dripping down your spine until it soaked into the cotton of your shift.
It did little to cool you.
Nine months aboard The Watcher had spoiled you, coarse rope and sharp, sea air warping you into something new. Something wilder. It was hardtack and hard work, yes. But it was freedom. To toil under a flag of your choosing, to trust the waves and the Captain to take you to new ports and newer treasures–
You'd left your papa's place with little more than ill-fitting breeches and a pocketed purse. You'd passed the scars on your hands and the patches on your shirt as evidence of experience – hardy little stowaway, aren't ye–. The morals didn't bother you the way stolen scraps didn't bother a dog. Street rat or ship rat; at least this way you could put miles between you and your father. Nautical miles, bobbing away with the wood of the ship's log. You watched it often, knots of rope and grains of sand. Hourglass and paper in hand while you stood on the stern.
It was you who first spotted the English Man O'War, sluicing through waves with colours hoisted high. Three gun-decks, at least, and coming into port.
"–plead the belly–it'll spare ye the choppin' block. Might even get lucky and be sent t' the reformatory– ah heard they do that f'r expectant mothers–" you couldn't quite hear him over the ringing of the cannons and the ringing in your ears. "–plead the belly, and I'll try tae come back for y–"
They echoed now in your sweltering cell, suspended in the humidity. The boatswain's last words before he was violently wrestled away.
You remembered him as you counted the bars of your cage. Iron-wrought and cruel. As cruel as the chain tethering you to the wall, cold metal biting into your bare ankle.
'–I've got the keys, girlie, if you want freein' from it. Don' have to sit against that wall, all shy. C'mere an' I'll make you a deal–'
You stayed silent, stone-faced. Weathered the taunts and jeers of your gaolers like a battered old rock. The guards took it as arrogance, the other prisoners took it as invite.
The priest took it as shame.
You let them all believe it, lips pressed tight lest you let loose sobs–giggles–something– as days passed and your sentencing drew closer.
You'd heard about him before you saw him. The Ghost. The last face you'd see before facing the faceless. The pitch-black eyes that would watch as you jigged to the jeers of the crowd.
It was the last face you'd see and it was only a mask. More macabre than the usual executioner's hood– a skull motif, bleach-white bones and empty sockets. A nasty minikin mockery of the reaper. It was gristly; it was sick.
But so was he.
A butcher, some said. Fingers caked in blood no matter to which job he attended. A pirate, according to others. One pressed into service, earning his freedom by sending others to the pits.
And now you heard him for real.
The low, resonant whistle. The heavy tread of his boots.
It had you curling your fingers into your palms, nautical superstitions and fishwives' tales nipping at you like fleas.
–quit yer whistlin', you'll anger the winds and summon a storm–
–it's good luck, don't worry. It'll make the winds blow strong and steady, you'll see–
–I wouldn't do that if I were you. Cap'n'll think it's code between mutineers–
–taboo–
The whistling stopped, a cheery solitary note wavering in the air before silence. Even the gaoler's dog had scarpered off, keys jingling around its neck until you couldn't even hear the echo.
A gravel-rough voice cut through the swirling tempest of your mind.
"Was told 'got a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage."
That pulled you from your reverie, neck-stiff as you turned towards the voice. It was more of a twitch than a conscious motion, a sudden flaring of deadened synapses as his voice rasped over them. Still, you didn't speak. Didn't even look at him fully, the hulking thing in your peripheral.
It was silent, now. Eerily so, like all the air had been sucked from the prison. Sitting in the eye of the storm, too calm and too quiet. You could hear the drag of his boots as he shifted closer. The rolling clank of iron scraping against itself, your cage creaking open.
The shadow in your peripheral became mass, then man as he stepped closer.
You risked a glance up.
He'd still be large, sturdy, even without you curled up on your dank, spongy bedcot. Tall enough to duck as he sauntered into the cell. Broad enough to block out the flickering oil lamps by the warden's desk. In the lambent glow of dusk it was already dim, hazy with sea-spray and the oppressive heat of wet season. But with him in front of you it was pitch-dark. A pall cast by his sheer size, all light swallowed up until you could just about make out his blurry edges.
The ghostly white of the bones bleached onto his mask moved and his voice rumbled out.
"Well, g'nna show me?"
You stretched out weakened muscles, unfurling as slow as a wind-battered sail. Joints creaked alongside the iron of your shackle, tight from where you'd clenched hard. Dug your blunt little fingernails into the pulpy, malleable fibers of the aged ironwood below you.
Standing was like finding yourself unmoored, sliding off the buoyant driftwood keeping you afloat. Your legs got tangled up in your borrowed clothes, damp petticoats and overskirts clinging as your feet finally touched the straw-strewn earth of the cell floor. It was cumbersome, made more difficult by the sliding of the heavy chain against the bench. You felt the weight around your ankle, anchoring you down.
Though you could barely see it, you felt as he studied you from top-to-toe. Flat, dead eyes followed every curve and dip of your body as you stood before him, your traitorous chest rising and falling in a way that made you grit your teeth. You used that force to steel your jaw, to look straight ahead and keep your arms lax and loose by your side.
Let him look his fill. Let him– your judge, jury and executioner.
He hummed. Circled you like a shark in a balmy waters. It was funny– you'd never felt more exposed than now in all your layers. Not even under the punishing sun in your loose, men's clothes. No, his eyes stripped you bare. More than cotton and linens, he peeled the flesh from bone. Flayed you open, eyes slicing through your skittish guise. Through your rabbity gaze hopping around the walls, the way you tried to arch your back and poke out more of your soft belly.
"You a liar, then?" You could hear the low, mocking note in his voice. "Or got a case of wishful thinkin'?"
That had you looking up, meeting him dead in the eye. Your hands hovered above the slight swell of your stomach, fingers twitching in an abortive gesture–
–you wanted to cradle it, the fluttering in your empty belly. Push down the sick, swirling terror and face the ghost you'd summoned, because you had summoned it–
He grabbed by your wrist, meaty paw pulling you close enough to brush against his expansive chest.
–Hadn't you? Bad luck. Malefic omen, having you on the ship. No prophets, no redheads–
There, in the cradle of his arms, you were frozen. Your wrist felt fragile, bird-like under the firm grip of his thick-knuckled fingers. You weren't weak, you'd rigged topsails in tempest winds with those wrists. But that was then. That was weeks ago, when you were part of a crew on the open seas. Here, it was just you and the beast that had sent stronger than you to their graves. The warnings from persnickety old seadogs tolled death knolls in your mind–
–no women. And now the sea had swallowed you up. Sent you down to the belly of the beast. A Jonah, locked behind something stronger than whalebone. Trapped. Unless–
Wishful thinking.
He chucked at your chin, calloused fingertips arching your head further back until your neck strained. Your heartbeat rushed past your ears, sending your head spinning. Dizzy, docile. An artificial calm; buoyant lifeline in the raging currents. He turned you slightly, left then right. Like he was measuring you up, the line of your throat. The fluttering of your pulse. That treacherous throbbing, sending oxygen to your brain that you were too erethic to feel.
He spoke again, rough and coruscating. You noticed that he didn't blink, just stared down at you. Dead-eyed as a fish, blond lashes spiked around dark irises. He kept you arched, unable to escape as every syllable struck you like a storm. You balanced on bare tip-toes, butterfly-soft fingers spread across his hairy forearm.
"The Beak's happy to let ya swing if it means 'e can catch the rest of y'r crewmates. And, 'round here, the only good pirate is a dead pirate," he must have felt how your fingers tightened, a futile brace against his butal strength and harsh words. "So, I tell him y'r a liar, get paid to do my job, and keep the governor happy."
He shrugged, bulky shoulders popping as he rolled them back. He shrugged like it meant nothing to him, just a matter of fact. The fisherman, fingers deep in guts and gristle. The butcher, hands stained copper and hardened on cannon bone. The executioner, calloused from rope neckties and the deadweight of the condemned–
But you catch the way his eyes follow your flinch. The way his lips move under his mask too as your mouth opens and closes. Hesitant. Dry.
You could only look up at him with wide, naïve eyes, dilating in the dark. The jejune jailbird. Doe-eyed. Caught.
The jig was up.
"Please," the words stuck in your throat, cracking and broken. "Please don't–"
He lets you go. Not a gentle action, no. No careful caress; he lowers you abruptly, chuckles as you scramble to face him. Stunned, you rub at your throat. Still there, still unadorned with the necklace of rope you swear he wants to place there. Coarse twine and hessian brown, constricting tighter until– no. You can't think on it, anathema to the lie you've worked hard to maintain. If he doesn't believe the plea of the belly, you'll– you'll–
You'll make it so.
As he settles his massive frame on the thin, wooden slat against the wall you wonder. Why did he come here in cover of night. Why did he need to see for himself what the priest confirmed as a priori truth? The seal of confession melts away, your moribund admittance flakes and crumbles under his heavy hand. He knows.
Solid legs spread wide, he makes himself comfortable. You follow the bulge of his thighs, easily as thick as your skull–more–, as the bench groans and creaks worse than the brig in a storm.
You worry that it can't handle the weight.
Even sitting, he dwarfs you. Stepping up between his thighs is like willingly stepping off the stern into still waters. It's terrifying, thrilling– your belly swoops and head feels light. You know there must be something lurking in the depths, some undulating hydra ready to slide its malignant limbs around your ankle and wrench you down–
He clamps a filthy boot down over the length of chain across the floor. Keeps you tethered to him, unable to pull back even if you wanted to.
"Clever enough t'come up with the scheme, clever enough t'get out of it." It's an offering, albeit a twisted one. Alms tainted by the greedy slap of his palms against his thighs. Rough, scarred hands frame the growing bulge between his legs.
Even in the dark, you see it. Heavy, perverse, Fattening enough to strain against the seam of his trousers. You can't look away, can't escape the muggy heat in the air and the scorching burn of his eyes on you. Incendiary, it sends heat pooling to your own belly. The damp, stickiness between your thighs seems cool now, sweat superseded by the slick gathering in your core. It's filthy, it's wrong–
It's blazing hot, shame seared away by a want that is not entirely born of desperation.
At first you think it's a tit-for-tat, your mouth stuffed full in exchange for his staying closed. Kneeling before him, you're suddenly grateful for your skirts. Matchsticks of dried straw and dusty smithereens dig into your knees, legs bent awkwardly as he keeps his boot on your chain. He's content to let you paw at him, to tug at the drawstrings and fumble with his waistband as he offers no help.
Eventually, he must grow bored.
"Don' need me to tell ya that's not how it works."
"What–?" He has you frozen, tableau vivant of a wanton grisette. Pupils-blown and lips-parted, you tremble up at him. Try to read the desire that he hides beneath harsh words and heavy breaths.
"Tryin' t'make me a liar, too?" He grunts, brushing aside your confused, hurried protestations. "Gonna make me a liar when I go out'nd tell them there really is a pregnant little birdie caught in the cage?"
He pats at his lap, palming at himself and hissing through his teeth. Sound is muffled by that grotesque mask, but you catch it all the same. Every flash of the man beneath– of the desire wrought by your artless, ingenue fumblings– sends you reeling. You are not a creature of flesh and blood, not when both are fever-hot and itching. You can't breathe in your body under sweltering layers and sultry air. And he can sense it, too. The beast you let into your cage, bars bending as easily as your will to his.
And, through messily-tugged drawstrings, you see it. Tugged through the opening you'd hastily torn open. The thick, ruddy head of his cock is already leaking.
And as you slide into his lap, it all slides into place.
You think of– no, not now. You can't think of him now. When he comes back for you, if it takes, you could pass the baby off as his. He was sweet on you, you know it. A breezy, comfortable kind of affection. Small, just barely burgeoning but still there. He's a good man– You'll claim that you were telling the truth at your capture– that you and he already– He's a decent man– maybe you wouldn't even have to lie. He'd take you in, little stray and the seed that kept her off the scaffold–
Thoughts slip away, sea spray in the wind, as you work yourself open in his lap. You're drenched beneath your skirts, slick running down your thighs and into his. You're spread so wide across him that it burns, pinned open by his bulk. You can feel the power of his frame, coiled muscle holding you up from the worn wooden bench. The soft pudge of his belly presses into yours as you lean forward, shakily lining up with the swollen head of his cock.
It's already weeping, thick globs of his slick mingle with yours as he slides between your folds. Like he can't wait to be inside you, leaking his spend at the barest touch of your cunt. Like he can't wait to put it inside you, to make good on his word and yours and put a baby there.
You shiver, biting back a gasp as he nudges the aching pearl at the apex of your thighs. His chuckle rumbles through his hulking chest into yours. It jostles you, hitching you just right over his length until it notches against you. You press down, hole clenching against the initial pain, until you feel the throb of his slit inside. It's deep, sending your back arching as you grip his shoulders with white knuckles. And there's still more–
"Tha's it, tha's it, birdie," his voice is impossibly thicker, desire dragging it down until he growls at you. "Gonna have t'take more, gotta make it all fit if you want this baby–"
"Yes, yes, please," you babble at him. Voice high, whines catching on every breath you work yourself lower. You can feel him in your stomach, every inch sending sparks dancing along your spine until they're all you can see when you close your eyes. The sparks, and the spectral imprint of his ghostly mask.
He grunts below you, swallowing back groans behind a jaw that you know is clenched tight. Avaricious brute, he needs you closer. Hands that were meant to measure you for the drop dig into your hips, working you lower and lower. He forces you down to the root, bare thighs on hessian cloth, until you cry out. Shaking at the spread– the stretch– you pant in his ear. Hot little breaths, heady against the crook of his neck.
You can hear it, the obscene squelch of your greedy cunt. The creaking of the bench beneath you as you ride him with shaking legs, chasing pleasure that's already beginning to pool in your belly. You feel heavy with it, moaning behind your clenched fist. Through bleary eyes you catch his, cimmerian and heavy-lidded. His head is thrown back against the wall, guttural filth spilling as he waits for you to come undone.
"Want it, don't ya? Want my baby so fuckin' bad, just look at ya," he growls it, frothing with a hunger so biting it reads as rage. "I'll put one in ya, keep you stuffed full. Keep this chain around y'r ankle, too, keep you shackled to me–"
Eyes-watering as you lose yourself in it. In the sounds that that send blood rushing to your head, the deep ache in your core, the desperation– make him come, make him come, want to come, need to come–
---------
At first, he was happy to watch you. To sit back and watch you work yourself up, to perform for him until he sees you drop the mask. You wear the mantle of captive soubrette so well, sweat-damp petticoats clinging to curves that he wants to trace with his tongue. With his teeth. He saw the craft in your sweet, open face. You're a flighty thing, aren't you? Trying to slip the noose and slip past him. Luckily his grasp is strong.
He saw the scheme slip away as he got you speared open on his length. He can see it in your eyes, feels the way you suck him in–. You're dripping down into his breeches, sloppy and squeezing him so tight. Desperate, wanton little naiad. Riding hard like your life depends on it. He huffs out a laugh as he squeezes you tight, rough fingers digging into peach-soft flesh.
He doesn't tell you that you're already free, that the Royal Navy is already in hot pursuit of The Watcher and the pregnant, little skivvy is of as much importance to them as the ship's rats. No, you're a nuisance they're willing to hand off to him. Too big, too blunt, too bloody to find a respectable wife.
(There was a time, once, when he had no need of such comforts. Lieutenant aboard The Larimar's Revenge, he'd docked in many-a-port. But he'd always come back to those blue eyes. The haircut that had even the natives of Port Royal looking twice– Cheeky, cocksure pirate.
He'd thought about him, sometimes. On that godforsaken island with just a pistol and one shot for company. 'Mutineer', he was branded. Traitor to King and Crown. Lower than scum, not worth even a keelhaul. But not even grapeshot can kill a ghost–)
He feels you reaching your end, thighs trembling from more than just exertion. His mask is damp, sultry air mixing with your musk into something that scatters his desultory thoughts. His belly tightens as he feels you clamping down, whining behind the knuckles you’ve got stuffed between your teeth.
When you're home, together in his bed, he'll bite down on those knuckles. Show you what real toothprints look like. Or maybe he'll let you slip his hand into your mouth instead. Let you whet your blunt little teeth on something with more gristle. His appetite for you cannot be satiated on mere flesh. He's got to pierce you, taste you, feel you from the inside and leave a part of himself there–
For now, he holds you down. Forces you to ride out the wave of pleasure-pain as he sets his own pace. Your thighs tremble, whole body seizing around him. He can feel the fluttering in your cunt, the way you shudder and drip until his cock is soaked and his coarse hair turns sticky with your release.
He ignores your whisper of another man's name– John, or Johnny, it's hard to catch with the way you swallow your whimper–it doesn’t matter. Not when he's the one pumping you full of his spend. His belly clenches hard, balls tight and heavy with the come he's going to give you. Going to force it in, plant his baby in you and still leave thick, white, globs leaking out of your poor, abused hole.
He's filled you up, is going to fill you up again. He'll take you back to his house and do it as many times as he wants. Make you grateful for it, for saving your life and giving you the baby you’ve been begging for. Keep you stuffed so full of him that the only name he'll hear from you is 'Simon'.
(And if you help lure Johnny back, well. It's been a long time, but good dogs come home when called.)
---------------
Well, there is it. Shoutout to my beloved stelle and woolie for listening to me whine about pirate ship names 💖💖💖
#mates have a whole backstory for this and many thoughts but lets stick to 4k#if its riddled with errors and switches dont tell me haha im soooo tired#how come all my simon work is either TRAUMA ROMANCE or GHOAP (or all three)#báirseach writes#ghost#ghost/reader#ghost x reader#simon riley cod#simon riley/reader#simon riley x reader#ghoap/reader#ghoap x reader#simon riley/reader/john mactavish#cw dubcon#cod fanfic#cod x reader
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WHEEEEEE
#project sekai#pjsk#prsk#emu otori#i drew this insteabd of payong attention to class. Sorry.#And am posting it while i wait for the bus. I ha e sleey disease#SLEEPY.#emu otori from um . fortntie#Rhebusihesjehr THE BUS IS HERE BYYE#edit ok im back waiting for my transfer BROTHER. THE ANNIVIERYUAEYH it got me so fucked up prsk you crazy son of a gun#I THINK THE NEW OUTFITS ARE RLLY CUTE MIKU SOOOO KITTY#im almost done with all of my commsni dont think i will open them again this semester. or next. summer. Im sho tired#my assignments r fun but theyre like big. Theyrbe large#my prof said he was gonna make us make fur/sonas for an assignment hut didnt want to get fired. dont be a coward#proseka autism is killinng me i cant lie WHY IS DARKNESS FESTA TIERING SO FUCKING CRAZY#IVE NEVER EVER SEEN THE 10K CUTOFF REACH A MILLION POINTS ON EN. USUALLY WE SLACK SO HARD. COME ON#im so sleepy and have things to do please sotp it AND CURTAINCALL IM GONNA BE SICK I CANT TRHJNK ABOUT IT
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#1 rule of homestuck. if there are stairs, someone will fall down them
#my art#fan art#art#katnep#karnep#nepkat#karkat vantas#nepeta leijon#karkat#nepeta#not sure why i used such a trickster ass palette#i think im going to keep trying to use variations of green/red for these comics to keep up with the katnep theme?#but i will probably grow tired of that so dont hold me to it#also youre meant to read karkat's 'neepeetaa' like 'alllVINNNNN'#not sure it comes across like that#tryina get better at comics 💪#oh my god i forgot to tag this homestuck#im so sorry#homestuck
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![Tumblr media](https://64.media.tumblr.com/5b21d1f103c9fb9135933bb048eac2bd/492c602f2db48209-26/s540x810/efffca54c5e4e2bd66fab2632eb07691da4ba0cc.jpg)
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One of my first digital pieces (2010) versus one of my recent ones (2024)
We all start somewhere!
#picked these cause they're in a similar pose lol. i mean not at all. but sort of... more than my other art at least...#oh fuck im so tired im saving this to drafts and coming back later#my anxiety meds wipe me the fuck out so im trying not to take them in the day#and they're like legit borderline a sleeping med for me. i take one and in 30 mins im OUT.#so I'm. i mean i was already only taking 1-2 in the day and then 2-3 at night#anyways it makes me sad when people say they dont have an artistic bone in their body#and especially when they say they could never draw like me :(#dont put yourself down to lift me up! i don't want my art to be used for you to be mean to yourself!!!#lots of experiences of people comparing themselves to me and being mean to themself...#feels bad. it's okay if you're slow it's okay to be learning it's okay!!!#I'm me and you're you and we're here to learn from each other. i just wanna hang out..#y'know what I'm just gonna post without saying anything i WILL forget I made a draft#i have so many things i intend to post and then forget#it's a wonder I post anything#i only do it when i get bored. and run out of stuff to scroll through#like whelp. guess if i want a post I have to make one myself.#also the second one is really good idc that it's a study i still drew it#art growth#this was in 2010 btw#i started highschool in 2011#I've grown a lot and you can too.#also I've never really been one to dislike my old art. like idk I was trying... if it's bad I just won't look at it whatever#like i wouldn't be mean to someone else who made that so i don't get a free pass to be mean just cause it's to me#man my thoughts are bungled. okay sleep time#if my phone made typos you didn't see it
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they should get to kill each other at least twice .i think
#gravity falls#stanford pines#stanley pines#lg doodles#i drew this a few days ago but im so tired after work ngl . sittingnin bed like =__= ..#and im visiting family this weekend so idek if ill get to it until next weekend#but ya i love them i loge them so much#i love the tension in atots right after stanford comes back#and hes like writing sll this shit ab stan in the journal#while learning that he stole his identity and so on and stans like hey so i did this rly selfless thing for u can you at least#acknowledge it and they r just stewing in their own anger 😭#actually i love their dynamic so much . the arguing as they mimic each other 1:1 and rhe animosity and#ykw im gna make another post but the grammar stanley scene is my favorite#magbe its not post worthy nvm idc but thats probably one of my fav interactions in the whole series#its so stupid that u know its real HELPPlike yeah that rly isnjust how it is . in fact ive done more over less 🫶#HAHAHAHAH#ugh.love . lovee i wish#i dont think gf needs a continuation im totally in the 2 season boat here#but if they ever did a post series stan and ford exploration ohhh believe . trust tht i would not shut up ab it ever#i want to see them talk so bad . im so greedy bc i feel like they didnt talk enough in the series bc im partial 2 them i just want them in#everything .#i think their personalities are so fun esp bc ford isnt the annoying nerd archetype i like that hes a cocky bitch#and i like that stan is an equally cocky bitch and they both have too much pride that they butt heads over literally everythjng#but they also recognize how ridiculous it all is like 😭. even when theyre fighting over the journal they both r like ok pause r u ok#hmm.. so many ppl here capture their dynamic well too.😭at least the people who dont generalize either into a single personality trait yk#imso tired im tired#but guys i love talking ab ford and stan theybr so everything to me in ways i dnt think incould ever articulate like u see them and u just g#get it . ugh. turning my head and passing out . ford is so funny hes so stupid i love him i cant bekieve i was a ford hater im sorry ive#atoned im changed im a changed oerson i didnt realize the magnitude of his serve .but stanley as my day 1 will never change . just know .(k#idk if anyonf ever reads this fsr down but if u r here say cheesee📸📸
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a visionary, vision is scary
#homestuck#dave strider#alpha dave#alpha dave strider#art#homestuck art#obligatory art tag#my art#im so tired#i should go to bed#i should also come up with original tags that dont pop up when im typing#anyway my cat is trying to kill me
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Despite all the *everything* going on, I like to think that Jayce managed to spend however many nights next to his Cyber Goop Boyfriend Starter without being told to take a break or, u know, a shower, only because if anyone asked about what he was doing, he'd threaten to put them in the goop as well.
And in the end Mel is the only one allowed to come visit with him because she knows better than to inquire about whatever kind of weird frat-nerd blood-pact those two have going on that had Jayce so easily deciding to *literally* hang Viktor in a frame with.. bubbles? Idk.
When she finds out that Jayce didn't exactly have permission to do *that*, and he is refusing to take that thing down weeks after Viktor felt The Calling and dumped his ass, she doesn't speak to him for a month. Maybe even more.
#this is a dumb headcanon pls dont come at me with any “well actually” or anything like that it's not that serious ok#im so tired and I kinda made myself amused with this dumb little scene in my head#and since this is 2025 i had to put it on the internet#arcane#jayvik#jayce talis#viktor arcane#mel medarda#arcane fic
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I found your Dottore w playable reader stuff and it's been taking over my brain. nf!!but if you could give us a few more silly headcanons? Love ur writing btw 🥹
Dream Chaser's Blight: An ancient weapon that was once used to protect a certain scholar from ages past and to forge a path towards their shared dreams. He has carefully preserved it so that the wielder can use it once more... even though they can no longer perform that duty.
Fly or Fall: HP is increased by X%. When an Elemental Skill hits opponents or heals allies for the first time, the next character that is swapped to will have their CRIT Rate increased by X% and CRIT DMG increased by X%.
Weapon Description: The sound of his fellow peer's humming had become commonplace to the youth. In particular, it always happened when they were carefully cleaning their weapon after a battle, mostly with Ruin Machines that needed to be dismantled with minimal damage... occasionally other unscrupulous people. At the beginning of their budding relationship, the grumpy scholar paid little attention to their fiddling, but as of late, he had taken notice of how his partner's usually tender hands glided along the weapon with ease. The lovely scholar quickly noticed with a smile and inquired of him:
"What, are you interested in my expert skills now? Or- don't tell me, you wish to learn?"
The man clicked his tongue in false disinterest, to which his companion chuckled. They beckoned him further, agreeing that teaching him some basic combat would be wise. After all, despite his high intelligence getting him out of ninety-nine percent of situations, the one percent was certainly something he should plan for. However, unbeknownst to the young man's lover, perhaps he felt a twinge in his chest at the sight of their occasional cuts and bruises. Regardless, before he could finish his thought, something was hurled at him and he had mere moments to catch it.
His so-called beloved had thrown their weapon at him out of nowhere and he could hardly hold it up, all while they were laughing. They just wanted to test his reaction time, they reasoned, sauntering up to him and then relieving him of the weapon's weight, easily maneuvering it to their will.
"Why, you can hardly hold it up, can you? Too heavy, eh? Unsurprising, I know there's a reason I have to haul your items around... but don't worry too much. Until you obtain the powers of the Gods... anyone who hurts my ███ will have to answer to me. But even after, they still will!"
However, an unlived eternity came with nearly insurmountable change for the man's once cheery classmate. Having not picked up a weapon in centuries, the promise was lost to time.
But one day the tired soul questioned their darling, surprised that he had held on to their centuries-old weapon, which had somehow not decayed by now. In turn, he responded that he had preserved all of their belongings from long ago as best as he could. Their weapon in particular was kept in pristine condition, remembering all the opportunities it provided for him. A glimmer of excitement appeared in his love's eyes as they asked if they could hold the weapon once more, to which he hesitantly agreed. But it had hardly made it into his beloved's hands before they nearly toppled over with the weight.
"W-Was it always that heavy...?"
The patient's question was only met with silent sadness and fury from the doctor.
#smooches talks#dottore love notes <3#playable reader <3#fragile reader <3#ALSO IM HAPPY U LIKE MY WRITING ANON IM SQUEEZING U#also dont come at me if the weapon effect is bad i was just like random bs go based on reader's foxttore/puffling summons#if u want more just send another ask bc i didn't wanna make this too long ebfrbeqf#i actually went on the wiki to see how they write the descriptions for weapons and tried me best#yk#the funny part is that i feel more tired than when i was actually going to classes#is this the stress catching up to me#yea no i need to get more eep in
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its not hard to click someones profile before you follow them btw
#Ok i know u guys are probably tired of me whining aobut this#but like almost every single follower i get i look at their profile and its this exact scenario..over and over...#and im starting to wonder am i doing something wrong? like is there something i can do to prevent this? is it on me???#because like. this many people can not be so... oblivious to clicking one button? before you follow me? or are you just ignoring it#im tempted to just give up on monitoring this but i know thats a bad idea#i really dont want to have to put a warning on all of my posts cos thats annoying and i just dont like having to do that/the look of it#whatever ill be 18 in 2 years so its only a matter of waiting and it wont be like this for long but. come on.#its so unbelievably irritating to have this happen over. and over. and over#i dont mind reblogs/likes from 18+ blogs on my posts! but following me is stupid!#SO i dont know if making a little frustration induced comic will help this cause but oh well#after this i suppose ill just go back to blocking people........#i hate blocking people!! its really tough but like. You did this to yourself following me#facepaw#my art#doodles#oc: rory
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"do you think my wings are pretty..?"
he preened his wings..... theres no dirt or dye or anything.... so they're back to their original colour
#gonna go ahead and post this one late#my art#grian#it was originally going to be him trying to bait compliments. yknow? being a little smug but still embarrassed#not sure when in the sketch he ended up laying back#he was originally talking to mumbo#hes fidgeting with his hands#i think it comes across as suggestive but hes just looking for attention hahah#hes an angel not a bird but.... he still wants people to find his wings pretty#i think scar would catch on and go along with him like oh ! why yes of course ! they're always so pretty <3#im rly tired if the wings are drawn ugly im sry i tried dont embarrass me pls
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hey guys i don't know if you know this but focusing on a disabled character's fragility and weakness as something sexy is kind of ableist. it's incredibly ableist actually. especially when you have a weird emphasis on how helpless he is and how his love interest could so easily do anything they wanted to him. did you know this. It's important to me that you know this
#chattering#dungeon meshi#mithrun#this one is coming out of the drafts actually bc im tired#im so tired of all of the squabbling over which joke is more ableist#or if people are ableist because they dont want to fuck him#when there is HORRIBLE ableism i see every single goddamn day when it comes to mithrun#from the people who claim to love him#and who say theyre the ones actually treating him right#anyway. rare angry post from me lmao#fandom wank
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The Beheaded makes a pitch
#saroart#dead cells#the beheaded#the collector#bad comic#art is all over the place because holy fuck im so tired#this idea has bounced around in my head like a dvd screensaver for a long time#also the views expressed in this comic are not necessarily the views of the author#dont come at me because its good and does amazing dps or whatever i know it has high damage per tick#it can be a little annoying in dailies when you dont get cells#and i do want more boss stuff#beheaded just wants a cool sword#collector would be one of those dont talk to me until ive had my coffee assholes#but yknow its panacea#in fact that was one of the earliest pieces of dc fanart i drew#dont think i ever posted it here and thats fine#god i miss when art was easy tho
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oh so you wanna fuck that monster huh. make sexy art of them without giving them muscles and/or making them look human
#spacie spoinks#this doesnt apply 2 monsters that are already humanoid#also its just a personal thing but muscles on male characters largely turn me off#hjdfkjsdf LIKE WHY IS STILL THE ONLY 'SEXY' MALE FORM IN FANDOM MUSCULAR AND/OR SKINNY#IM SOOO TIRED#yall be giving muscles 2 muh fuckers who DO NOT NEED THEM SHITS#IF YOU NEED 2 HUMANIZE A MONSTER IN ORDER 2 FUCK IT..............YOU AINT A MONSTERFUCKER DAWG................#''wow this character is really sexy 2 me b/c of how human it looks now!!''#you'll see the original design be some hulking beast who's shape isnt humanoid in the slightest and then some guy#will come along and be like ''hahaha yeah i wanna fuck this thing'' and then take the characters head and put it on a muscular human body#what is the point dawg.#this can also apply 2 robots#i dont caaareee if you have a humanoid design for 'x' robot/monster character#the problem is when you just. take a stereotypically attractive human body slap the character's head on here and then go crazy over that#and like the original character design does nothing for you.#dude. you dont want 2 fuck these characters you want 2 fuck a human wearing an object/animal head 😭#true monster/robotfuckers want that thang in its canon form. you cant ride w/us if you're like that dawg#dont mind me this is just a pet peeve i have#its even worse when its female characters oh my godddd#these muh fuckers dont want 2 fuck monsters they wanna fuck a human woman cosplaying as one#good LORD
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Dead Tired Honey Swamp
Shout out to @deuces-stone-cold-style for the nightgown inspo!
#monster high#monster high fanart#monster high g1#honey swamp#dead tired#finished this a couple days ago but couldnt post it#cuz my laptop battery decided it had had enough and finally went caput on me#i have a replacement coming within a i cant really draw until then and im super bummed about it#anyway this drawing was funny#i kinda hated it but thought if i could just add some color that it would help#and it did i love her#shes one of my most detailed mh designs so drawing her is always a doozy#i wanna design a dt wydowna to match because they are ghoulfriends#also sorry the nightgown isnt that accurate to the actual reference#i dont think honey is particularly a lace ghoulie which is why i went with the wispy plant fringe#and i really dont like drawing floral patterns i just used the csp presets 🥲#i know the dt dolls come with little accessories but she gets a blankie#and i couldnt fit the sleep mask because i refused to get rid of the bow on her bonnet#id in alt#my art#sabz art
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ill probably delete this in a minute but ive just been fuckin boggled by what ive seen across tumblr in the last few days in particular. its why i havent really been around. like holy fucking shit, its really like some of yall just dont want a chunk of the trans community to exist. like some of yall are thisclose to saying it verbatum. way too many already have. 'shut up sit down be quiet and smile for us' type shit, gee where have i heard that before. oh yeah my entire life cause i was forcefully gendered as someones daughter. shock horror i know. you might be surprised to remember and/or learn that very few trans folks know theyre trans before we're 5, or even 10, and that that gendered experience stays with all of us in both/either small or large ways. either bc we literally dont have a solid identity yet (bc we're very small children), dont have the words, we're repressing it out of fear from how others will treat us, we're actually enjoying or enjoyed being another gender in our childhood, or we just genuinely didnt fuckin know until shit lined up later in life. weird isnt it that transmascs dont pop out as 6'1 brick shithouse cis men when we're born so yall know for certain that we're confused lost girls/women oops i mean big dangerous scary men. its almost like we're transgender too. none of yall actually know what intersectionality is or means
#my t#transandrophobia#yeah ill tag it why tf not#i just dont understand why transmasculinity is scrutinized and dissected like this within the trans community#when its just not the case for other gendered trans folks amongst themselves more often than not these days#which is a good thing! a really really good thing! but why are we scapegoating transmascs#''we need more weird trans people!!'' yall cant even handle like. a pre-everything trans guy coming out for the first time#yall cant handle a pre-everything tguy wearing a tshirt without tearing him to shreds & calling him shit like afag/theyfab & ukelele boy#im tired of my identity being treated as a debate. i had enough of that in highschool as#very literally. **the only trans kid in my grade** surrounded by cis teachers & peers USING ME AND MY BODY AS A TALKING POINT#i was the only one who wasnt deeply closeted that is. and holy fuck do i still not blame anyone for being closeted in that school#why is it only okay to try to separate trans ppl from our gender when we're not fem/me#why is one celebrated and the other treated like radioactive waste **within our own community**#god i need to find an irl community fuckin badly online trans circles are hell on earth#ill be describing smth that happened to me as a clocky tguy and someone else will say TO MY FACE#that what happened to me wasnt bc i was a clocky guy but purely bc i was trans#like i. what. how. how does that make any kind of fucking sense#i wouldnt be clocky if i wasnt trying to look like my gender. like i. hello?#would u say that to any other trans person or am i just that special?
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